Your best photo stories.

Intro

Use left/right arrow keys to navigate through photos

Note to Self

Someday I’ll tell you the whole story of why I opened this theme. Suffice to say that life turned upside down. When traumas or triumphs hit, it can feel like you’re walking through an alternate universe version of your own life. Read these twenty-three accounts of Pictory contributors finding a new normal, or firmly reminding themselves of who they are.

Two broken hands, four broken ribs, and a shattered elbow were the injuries sustained. I have since recovered, but I still don’t have full mobility in my right arm. This is a message to my past self to take the car instead of the motorcycle on March 27, 2006.

I am a Los Angeles based fine-art photographer. The above image launched a photo project called Message in a Bottle. Using the same Moleskine journal, I ask people to write one of three messages, the options are: 1. Write a message to yourself in the past. 2. Write a message to someone you’re not in contact with anymore. 3. Write a message to the Universe.

Photographer: Justin Wolfson

Dear little girl in the tie dyed pants, when you were young, you held hands and kissed lips. You made love and mistakes. That boy with the golden hair broke your heart, but he had to so you could meet the boy with the thick black glasses and the crooked smile. And that boy with the thick black glasses and the crooked smile had to break your heart so you could meet the boy with auburn hair and ocean eyes. Everything that will happen is part of your path.

Photographer: Kimberly Alu

He came up to me, grinning widely, nervously. He told me there was someone else and things were not going to be easy. We talked. I cried. I was going to say “I’m leaving,” but I choked on my words. He had to go home before she got suspicious. He put me in a cab, paid the driver, and sent me away.

As long as you stand out, you’ll attract others who are like you. Be proud to be you. Try not to care what other people think. People have hurt you in the past, and will probably hurt you in the future. Stay strong.

I hate that the phrase “good days and bad days” has entered my vocabulary. Five years ago I was 22 and feeling invincible. Now, after panic attacks and sky-rocketing blood pressure, I’m not sure I’ll make it to 50. I wish I’d been more careful, taken things slower. Like Stanley Greene once said, “Sometimes your wings get singed, or you just burn up.”

My name is is Tristan Wheelock. I’m a freelance photographer who splits his time between India and the United States. I’m currently based inside of a bright blue airstream trailer that is en route to visit every state in this great country before the fourth of July.

Sorry, but I like to eat good food and have a roof over my head. When I find out how to be a successful liberal hippie who chases her fantasies, I’ll abandon the corporate gig. Until then, I’m going to enjoy the health insurance and vacations.

I’ve been told that the city is violent and that it is beautiful. That things are awful there and that things are really looking up. That it’s going to flood again and that it will always remain corrupt. That it will make me or break me.
Everyone’s got an idea of what’s going to happen when I leave Wisconsin to start over in New Orleans at age 38. I haven’t a clue.

You woke up alone, walked to the train door, and felt the cold air hit your face. You felt alive. This is the moment you realized you were stronger than you thought. Strong enough to take a round-the-world trip by yourself. Remember this moment when you feel self doubt. Remember opening that door on the train and the feeling that rushed in.

Little did I know, as a fashion editor and bonafide city-girl, that I’d someday move to the hills of Northern California to be with the love of my life. Or that this rat-infested airstream would be my hillbilly office.

You and your best friend were there for each other when times were tough, and now you don’t talk anymore. You have both found partners to lean on and your friendship will never be the same. And that’s ok.

It was Father’s Day 2009 when I found out. We ducked into an Internet cafe in Florence and I saw her check an email account I’d never heard of, an account she refused to talk about.
It’s been a year and a half now and we’re still taking it one day at a time. I wish I knew how it would all turn out. No matter what though, I don’t think I’ll regret any of it. Without my wife, I wouldn’t have the most important thing in my life: my daughter.

These figures at the capitol building in DC speak to me of connection and complicity. They also remind me of where my partner and I started: keeping our love a secret. I’m 50. I’m gay. I live in Washington, DC where same-sex marriage is legal. My partner and I are getting married next year. We’ve come a long way.

No matter where you were born, where you have lived, how long you have been away, this is the only country that is yours. It’s a God-awful mess right now, has been for awhile, and probably will be for awhile longer, but that doesn’t make it yours to desert. It makes it yours to fix.

Photographer: Rhoda Severino

Home (for now) is Singapore, but always has been and always will be Manila, the Philippines.

I had a crush on the owner of this bike, but I was too painfully shy and timid to ever get to know him. He’s since left his job and moved out of the country. This shot I snapped of his officemates’ prank reminds me to break out of my shell the next time.

Graduating high school feels like this: for seventeen and a half years, I have been driving in daylight, and suddenly the sun went down. Now don’t get me wrong, I can see perfectly fine. But there is something unnerving about not being able to see farther than my headlights will shine. The landscape is pregnant with the unknown — deer, switchbacks, oncoming traffic. I can’t think about it too much, though. I just have to keep driving.

I work in rural villages in India. Every time I arrive home to Texas, I am reminded of the luxury of clean water flowing through three different taps in my home. I want to remember to be appreciative and conscious of our precious water supply.

Their internal alarm clock doesn’t always match the actual alarm clock; mornings often start rambunctious and early. But that clock keeps ticking and these moments, these days, fly by faster than you can imagine. Relish them. It is the one thing you will not regret.

Congratulations! I know it was tough moving back in with your parents, with everything you own crammed into one room. All the detritus of your adult life sits next to the butterfly border, reminding you daily of your inadequacies. But you’re doing it. You’re working with what you love the most: words. I know you want to forget the difficulties, but please don’t — they are proof that you have a loving family that supports you no matter what.